Breaking Point
by Spidermanismyhero
Summary: Rat Man's confidence visibly wavered as Minho continued to relentlessly pound his fists against the invisible wall that was protecting him. Maybe Minho's third trial of playing all of his friend's 'deaths' over and over, was probably not the best idea. The wall had been tested, just not on someone like Minho. Then what Rat Man thought was impossible, the wall cracked.
1. Rat Man's POV

_Hello! I wrote this because I really wanted to see Minho beat the klunk out of A.D. Janson aka Rat Man because he annoyed the buggin' hell out of me throughout the Scorch Trials and the Death Cure and because I love Minho :P I'm thinking about writing another chapter in Minho's point of view or maybe Minho's third trial but it will just depend on how popular this is and if you guys want me to continue!_

_Please enjoy!_

Rat Man's confidence visibly wavered as Minho continued to relentlessly pound his fists against the invisible wall that was protecting him and keeping the psychotic teenager from wrapping his strong hands around Rat Man's scrawny neck. Maybe Minho's third trial of playing all of his friend's deaths over and over again until he was convinced they were all dead, was probably not the best idea. Maybe Rat Man should have given Minho some time to calm down. The wall had been tested, just not on people like Minho, someone filled with so much rage and pain. Then, what Rat Man had thought impossible, his invisible wall cracked.

The noise was so loud and unexpected, both males froze, clearly not expecting what had just happened. Rat Man froze and stared in a paralysing shock at Minho's strength. He slowly turned to face the traumatised teenager. Minho's face had twisted into a grin and he slowly pulled back his fist.

The second crack was louder than the first. Rat Man flinched which, unfortunately for Rat Man, appeared to fuel Minho's rage.

"Minho" Rat Man began, he didn't feel like getting his face bashed in. "Hurting me is not going to achieve anything"

Minho paused his third and what would appear his final swing briefly. "No…" Minho began slowly. "But it will sure as hell make me feel better"

Minho's ferocious third swing smashed Rat Man's defensive wall he was once so utterly proud of into pitiful smithereens. Behind the wall Rat Man was invincible. He was invulnerable to whatever anyone tried to throw at him. But Rat Man supposed he'd never pushed anyone quite as emotionally far before.

A roughly calloused, bloody hand reached out and clamped like an iron grip around Rat Man's neck, squeezing without mercy, squeezing the breath out of him, willing the life out of Janson's eyes.

Then came the punches.

The first punch was excruciating and left his face screaming in agony.

By the sixth punch Janson couldn't feel anything. Just the unbearable throbbing that had erupted in his head.

After the eighth punch Rat Man's vision was nothing but disorientating, vertigo-inducing swirls of black and grey.

After the tenth punch there is so much blood in his mouth; but he didn't expect the momentum of the punch to send splatters of dark red glistening blood on the clean and pristine white floors. His limbs are completely dead, useless weights and he's pretty sure the unrelenting grip around his throat had tightened, Minho's nails digging in with such force it drew blood. Small tendrils of the red liquid crawling their way down Rat Man's neck like worms.

The twelfth punch never comes. The weight is abruptly lifted from his fragile form. An unanticipated piercing mess of searing white light obscured the black abyss of his vision.

Rat Man began to shamelessly try to pull some well desired oxygen into his rapidly failing body only to choke from the blood that swirled in his mouth and his partially crushed airway. He vaguely registers someone pushing him onto his side to let the fluids from his mouth out so he can breathe once again.

Rat Man felt many unpredictable emotions flood through him, the two dominant emotions, however, was anger and fear. Anger at Minho's pathetic inability to see that all his pain and suffering was going towards potentially curing and saving the Human race from extinction; and fear of Minho. Somewhere in Janson's subconscious, he registers that being terrified of a seventeen year old boy was utterly deplorable and humiliating, but after everything Minho and the other subjects have had been forced to go through, they're all adults in children's bodies. The leader of the group is no exception. Minho could have killed him with a terrifying ease. Janson had always felt uncomfortable around the Glader but now it went beyond that and went straight to down-right terrified.

Rat Man, trying to desperately ignore that fact he'd beaten to the edge of death by a teenager, and decided that he would show these _children_ that at the end of the day he called the shots and they could do nothing about it.

Rat Man grinned irrationally under his half-crazed, beaten face.


	2. Minho's POV

_I did it! Minho's Point of View! Please enjoy it!_

Minho sent another horrifyingly powerful punch to Rat Man's infuriating invisible wall. The only thing keeping him from the ever so tempting idea of wrapping his strong hands around Rat Man's neck.

Blood was smeared across the wall, giving it a look like it was floating, hovering above the ground but shuddered every time Minho threw a punch.

Minho had never felt so much resentment and hate directed at anyone before. This man- no this _thing _was responsible for his friends deaths.

Thomas. Newt. Frypan. Teresa. Aris. Sonya. Harriet.

He didn't even know Sonya and Harriet, so why did seeing them die hurt so much? Why did it make him want to scream and sob in a corner of the room?

Because he was the _leader_. A leader looks after his group. He protects them. He is supposed to see the bad things coming before they hit. He is supposed to give them hope.

How could he give anyone such a precious gift when his own hope is nothing more than a long-since dried up puddle in the middle of a bare, desolate desert? Simply a mirage. An hallucination. Like it was never real in the first place. It's not real, it doesn't exist. There hasn't been much hope there for a long time. The Maze and the Scorch certainly did their fair share of 'drying up Minho's hope'. But it never mattered if Minho had hope or not. It only mattered that he _gave_ people hope.

He didn't even like Teresa and Aris. They hurt Thomas. Nobody hurts his friends and gets away with it. He couldn't beat up Teresa because she was a girl. That was memory but not a memory at the same time. He remembers been told hurting a girl is rude and disrespectful but he had no idea_ who _had told him. He was more than happy to beat the klunk out of Aris but he never wanted the kid or Teresa to _die._

Then there was Thomas. Gassed to death. And Newt, he finally completed what he'd tried to do in the Maze. The suicide attempt.

The sound of a crack echoed around the isolated room-the aftermath of Minho's ridiculously strong and rather impressive punch. Minho stared in stupefaction and awe. Rat Man stared at Minho's monumental strength with a look that could only be described as disbelief and fear. A large spider web crack glistened Rat Man's 'perfect' wall.

Minho felt his face twist into a sick grin and he began to slowly pull back his bloody fist. Maybe he wouldn't have to take his anger out on the worthless wall, but the Rat Man himself. The idea was all the encouragement Minho needed.

The second crack was more deafening than the first-if that was even possible. Rat Man flinched against its echoing effect.

Minho felt more disturbing satisfaction at Rat Man's fear. Minho wanted to make this man suffer, he wanted to make the man _terrified _of him. Minho pulled back his fist to finally break the wall.

"Minho" The words caught Minho by surprise. Minho glared at Rat man, the intense anger in Minho's eyes taking the member of WICKED off guard.

"Hurting me is not going to achieve anything"

"No…" Minho began, surprising himself by the sudden calmness and control in his voice. "But it sure as hell will make me feel better" He completed his sentence with his third and most ferocious punch.

The wall smashed to smithereens. Minho nor Rat Man noticed the fragments of the wall turn into a pasty grey as the invisibility factor deactivated.

With no hesitation, the Keeper of the Runners reached out and squeezed his hand around Rat Man's neck.

Somewhere in his subconscious the logic was telling him his friends weren't dead. That would make all of WICKED's volatile efforts in vain. They needed them for tests. WICKED said this was the third and final trial but it just seemed too perfect. Too simple. What- after this they could just leave? It was just so bizarre. But the loudest voice in his head was screaming at his to kill the _thing _who killed his friends.

He crushed Rat Man to the ground and relentlessly started beating him, never once letting the grip on Rat Man's throat falter.

Minho no longer cared if he survived all the trials or not.

He'd failed Newt. He'd failed Thomas. He'd failed as a leader. He'd failed to protect them. Newt was always the better leader. Despite the demons that surged through him, he kept a straight face and carried on without complaint. And Thomas had always been so strong and determined, so driven. Brenda was right, Thomas would have been a better leader than he was.

Minho's hand throbbed painfully as he continued to unforgivingly punch Rat Man, but he ignored it. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Someone – probably one of the guards - unexpectedly grasped Minho under the arms and hauled him off of the assistant director. Surprisingly, even to himself he didn't struggle. The damage had been done. He didn't have any fight left in him. His friends were dead. If his friends were gone, he was too. They were his family. The only people he'd ever known – ever could remember. He'd been to hell and back with these people.

They were his family. No one hurts his family without _at least_ a viciously bashed in face to show for it.

Rat Man's pretty lucky, Minho thought, if the shuck guards hadn't come in… well it would be a lot uglier.

The guards escorted Minho out of his room. In a normal situation he would be constantly alert, looking for a possible escape route. Right now he resembled someone who'd been told they had twenty four hours to live, someone might as well have. It wouldn't make a difference right now.

The two guards led him to yet, another room. The door was the same as all the others. Minho stared at the door with a glazed, distraught look in his eyes.

The guard sighed with frustration and shoved the door open, then shoved Minho through the door and promptly slammed the door shut.

Minho stumbled in and uncharacteristically lost his balance and if it weren't for a set of strong hands that shot out to grab him, he would have kissed the floor.

Minho cautiously looked up to meet the owner of the arms. He met the welcoming, soft gaze of his best friend.

Newt.

"You look like a bloody piece of klunk" Newt told him, a smile graced his features.

Minho stared numbly at the boy before him. The Shock and overwhelming relief that Newt was alive made him dizzy.

When Minho did not reply with an overly sarcastic comment, and Newt noticed the thick, dark red blood that coated Minho's knuckles, Newt frowned at Minho, worry etched on his face.

"y-you're alive?" Minho's voice was more of a whimper than anything.

Without hesitation Newt tackled Minho into a suffocating hug. "Of course I am shank" Newt tried to keep his voice soft and as un-sarcastic as he could keep it, it was clear that Minho needed it.

What the hell did they put you through? Was the only thought that swam in Newt's head as he desperately tried to comfort his best friend.

Newt felt a wave of anger surge through him. WICKED was going to pay.


End file.
